


Like Shakespeare

by starseeker95



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Blood, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad Ending, Survivor Guilt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26516758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starseeker95/pseuds/starseeker95
Summary: It wasn't a cherry bomb on the stage... their worst fears are realized and the band pays the price.**Warning: This fic contains graphic descriptions of violence and death. PLease read the tags carefully.
Relationships: George Harrison & John Lennon & Paul McCartney & Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 35
Kudos: 82





	1. Chapter 1

“We’ll be alright, Macca. You’ll see.”

John gave him a smile before dipping in and kissing him, hard enough to steal Paul’s breath away. Panicking, the bassist pushed the other man away, casting a nervous look around. “John! Anyone could just walk in! What if one of the others-”

“You know what?” John squinted down at his bassist critically, a twinkle in his eyes. “I don’t think you understood me.”

Paul felt his back meet the wall as John’s mouth covered his again and a groan escaped them both. A hand came up and cradled Paul’s jaw, angling his face perfectly so that John could slip his tongue between Paul’s lips. As John’s other hand moved to cup his hip, the younger man felt his eyes begin to roll up into his head. Before he could completely lose himself to the sensation of John’s touch, the rhythm guitarist stepped back, leaving Paul to wobble on shaking legs.

Seeing the betrayed look on Paul’s face, John laughed wickedly and, maintaining eye contact, reached down to feel up the rising bulge in Paul’s trousers. “Best tend that ‘fore we go out there, son. Can’t have the birds getting the wrong idea, can we?”

Giving his lover a glare, Paul used John’s closeness to his advantage. The other man had no chance to react as Paul snatched him by the back the head, digging slender fingers into his auburn hair and giving it a sharp tug. In the same motion, he darted forward and pushed a wet kiss into the soft spot beneath John’s ear.

As expected, the older man stiffened immediately, frozen in place, and Paul bit the spot before licking the sting away. Paul took his time, keeping tension on John’s scalp as he sucked a red bruise just beneath the collar of his suit. Lord help him, nothing tasted better than John, especially right before they headed out on stage.

When he at last leaned back, Paul found John’s eyes unfocused and a fine sweat beading on his temples. Blinking a few times, the guitarist finally managed to look across at his partner. “Shit, Macca. The things you do to me…”

Paul smiled at the other man, his heart shuddering in his chest when John returned with a grin of his own. It was rare that John smiled, really smiled, without the veneer he kept in place against the world. There was a special smile that he held back for Paul and Paul alone, one that bared his battered, scarred soul.

Paul leaned forward until their foreheads touched and they could stare straight into each other’s eyes. “When we get out of here- when we get back to the hotel-”

“I hope you do, Paulie.” John’s pupils were blown wide as he gazed at Paul, a breathless smile on his rosy face. “I hope you do.”

Paul gave his bandmate a wink before pirouetting away, headed to the loo to sort out his the growing problem in his trousers. There was just enough time for him to get off before they were due on stage and Paul knew that it wouldn’t go down on its own. Not while he was sharing a mic with John anyway.

~o0o~

They’d known about the protests going on outside, the burning of their records and the like. Brian had done his best to prepare them for the onslaught of mixed feedback that would inevitably arise from the audience. At first, though there was a fair amount of tension, everything went according to plan.

The second set rolled around and Paul was bouncing happily on his toes, his mind already back at the hotel. At his side, John kept returning his glances, his smile growing broader as the set wore on. George and Ringo flanked them and bent over their own instruments as they belting out the final songs. Despite the rocky start, the evening seemed to be going off without a hitch.

Paul felt his heart stutter in his chest when John connected eyes with him, singing straight at him for all the world to see. He kept his eyes on John even when the other man’s attention drifted back out to the audience around them. Paul was so lost in the moment, watching his lover, that he was caught completely off guard when John abruptly stepped forward and shoved him.

Paul stumbled backward, John still holding onto his shoulders, as a series of loud bangs sounded. The noise echoed in Paul’s ears as he fell, temporarily leaving him deaf and confused. Fortunately, his head didn’t hit the stage too hard, but he could only lay still at first, stunned. From far away, he realized that John’s hands had disappeared.

Overhead, the lights swirled slowly as the audience screamed in the distance, their cries turning from joyful excitement to ones of horror.

“J- Johnny?”

Pain erupt just beneath Paul’s ribs when he tried to move and a hoarse cry burst from him. Clamping his hand over the area, he was surprised to find it slick, his hand sliding right off of his suit.

Rolling onto his stomach, Paul gradually became more aware of the room spinning around him. People in the crowd were shoving each other, most of them trying to get away from the stage. Police appeared out of nowhere, pushing the shifting sea of bodies in a bid to regain control. What had happened?

Another stab of intense pain arched through Paul’s body and his arms gave out, unable to support his weight. Panic seized him like a vice and Paul couldn’t stop himself from screaming out amid the chaos surrounding him. “John! John, please! Where are you? John-”

“Paulie…”

At the familiar voice, Paul wrenched his head to the right, searching for the source.

Just a few feet away, a suit clad body lay on its back. Paul could barely see the other figure as his vision swam and the lights above rapidly dimmed and brightened. But there was no mistaking the silhouette of that Roman nose and the glint of that tussled auburn hair.

 _John_.

With a renewed sense of urgency, Paul crawled over to the other man, his legs barely cooperating. When he finally made it to John’s side, the sight that greeted him nearly made him sick.

Blood bubbled from John’s colorless lips, trailing down his cheeks and into his hair. Both of his hands fluttered in the air, as if he were trying to grab onto something, anything at all. So close up, Paul could finally hear his lover’s labored breathing and he hurriedly tracked his eyes down the other man’s body. Two patches of red, one through the left side of John’s chest and the other just above his naval, bloomed across the cloth, leaching out into the surrounding material.

Dazed, Paul pressed his hands against the two spots, whether to hide them from sight or to stem the blood flow, he didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything at the moment.

“Paul… Paul…”

John was gazing up at him, smiling despite the blood painting his teeth. “Yer… ‘lright?”

Paul gasped and finally looked down at himself. On the right side, just under his last rib, his shirt was soaked and heavy with red. With flickering awareness, John followed Paul’s eyes and hissed out a breath. Shakily, he pawed a hand at Paul’s abdomen, but lacked the strength to keep his arm up. Eventually, he allowed it to fall back to the stage floor.

Their eyes met again and Paul felt tears of pain and fear pricking his own eyes. Hurriedly, he tried to swallow them back for John’s sake, but he couldn’t. In two neat rivers, they trailed down Paul’s face, hot against his oddly chilled skin. Knowing that it was useless to hide from John anyway, Paul hunched lower over the other man, his strength weeping from the wound in his torso. “I’m s-scared- scared, Johnny-”

Unlike Paul, John was quiet, his eyes fixed lazily on Paul’s belly, at the wound there. “Oh, Paul, baby…”

Around them, people continued to run and scream, their footsteps shaking the building. More gunshots rang out and Paul collapsed over John, his eyes wide as he tried his best to shield the other man from any further harm. He glanced back to find Ringo’s drum set deserted, the drummer himself nowhere in sight. George was gone too.

“Love… P-Paul…”

The bassist managed to sit up just enough to look down at John. The guitarist’s face was smeared with red, but his eyes were alert and probing. Paul wiggled a hand beneath John’s head to try and provide some comfort, an ultimately pitiful barrier between those beautiful auburn strands and the dirty stage floor. Paul felt something shift within his chest and he released an agonized groan. _God he was so tired_ …

“I’m so… so sorry, Paulie…”

Already knowing what was coming, Paul slumped forward and rolled his head against John’s shoulder, hiding his face in the other man’s neck. “Love you- love- John-”

A heavy hand came to rest on Paul’s heaving back, the fingers curling against the material of his suit. “Love you… sweet…”

~o0o~

George reviewed the events to the police a final time before tears overcame him. There’d been gunshots, several of them, so quick and clustered that he didn’t know exactly how many he’d heard. It had happened so quickly and he’d been the one closest to the edge of the stage…

He’d been the one that they’d grabbed. The others, they said, had all been too far away.

“Geo, you can’t go in there-”

The guitarist yanked his shoulder free from Brian’s hand, his face twisted into a snarl. “I didn’t want this. If they couldn’t- why did they-”

_If they couldn’t save everyone, then why did they bother saving me?_

George wished he’d been left to die with them, left to die with his family. With his brothers.

Brian’s eyes were red and puffy, but his voice was steady. Ever business-like and in control. Suddenly, George couldn’t stand to be near him. He couldn’t stand to be near anyone. No one else could understand because the only ones who could possibly understand were _gone_.

“Fuck off, Brian. I have to see it. I have to see what those sick bastards did to them.”

As George made his way back into the venue, the police stepped aside, all falling quiet and bowing their heads. No one dared try and stop the youngest Beatle as he stepped over broken chairs and tattered bits of pamphlets. Pamphlets advertising the Beatles performance that evening. Savagely, George kicked them out of the way and continued toward the stage from the back row.

Up on the stage ahead, the lights were still on and police packed the area. Standing around and talking among themselves, exchanging enough lights that their cigarettes had created a cloudy haze overhead. As George arrived at the steps to the stage, many of them fell silent and stood back. One doffed his hat and the rest followed him, bowing their heads as the young man continued past them.

He headed for the drums first, the entire set sparkling under the stage lights. Ringo’s pride and joy.

Behind it, a small figure lay obscured under a white sheet. Though he could feel the bile rising in the back of his throat, George still gripped the cloth’s edge and pulled it back. He had to see for himself-

A breath escaped him, whistling a bit as it left his cramping throat. Bending, George gently ran his fingers through the drummer’s limp, matted hair. A small blessing, he thought, as he lowered the sheet over his friend once more. At least poor Rings had gone quickly, with little to no pain. It was clean, even. Efficient.

Wobbling up onto his feet, George found himself face to face with a wall of policemen. One stepped forward then, one that looked more important than the rest. “Son… you don’t want to do this. Believe me you don’t.”

Clenching his jaw and taking a deep breath, George stared down at the other man. “I need to know what happened to them. _I have to see_.”

Shaking his head, the mustached officer stepped aside. The men around him did too, clearing a path for George to the front of the stage. On shaking legs, George strode past them.

The final officer stepped out of the way and George finally saw his other two bandmates, laying center stage where they’d fallen. As if dragging heavy chains on his ankles, George slowly stepped forward to gaze down at the pair.

John lay on his back with Paul nestled against his side, their heads titled toward each other so that John’s nose was buried in Paul’s hair. One of Paul’s hands cradled John’s head off the floor, and John’s left arm was tucked around Paul’s back, holding the younger man close. As George stared at the scene, repulsed by the blood and the carnage, he found himself strangely captivated as well. The way they held onto each other, the bright lights shining down from above, the red on the floor-

_Like Shakespeare._

Yes, that’s what it was. It was like a Shakespearean tragedy, played out in harsh reality, right there before George’s burning eyes.

Choking, he turned away and fled from the stage, away from his brothers.

_I wish they’d let me die with them._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By request... chapter 2 :')

George drew a breath and then another, his heart thrumming violently in his chest. The crowd was deafening, a multitude of fans screaming and crying and praising him. Just as they should’ve, he supposed. Not everyone could still play on stage well into their 70s.

As the final notes faded from the speaker system, George backed away from the mic and set down his guitar. His final performance had gone over without a hitch and the crowd had sang every song with him, taking him back to the days so long gone. The thought brought a smile to his face, even as tears flooded his eyes. _Our songs made it, lads. We made it._

“George?” Turning, he found his manager standing there, a broad smile on his face. He wasn’t Brian, no, but the kid was good. “Do you wanna say anything, or…”

George considered for a moment before shaking his head in the negative. Around him, the crowd was still thundering with applause, men and women alike howling their approval of his final song.

_Why they had to go, I don’t know… they didn’t say…_

It had been impromptu, him playing and singing “Yesterday.” Fortunately, the band had caught on quickly and had provided only the barest backup, allowing George’s plaintive voice to bring the audience to their feet, lighters and cellphones in hand.

George had stepped back and allowed the crowd to finish the song. His throat had begun to close by then anyway, so it truly was the perfect ending.

George lifted his hand and waved a farewell as the crowd went wild. No words that he could possibly say would be able to top what had just happened. If he closed his eyes and listened, he could too easily pretend that it was 60 years earlier… No, talking wouldn’t do it justice, he thought. Leave them with a song and let it be.

Understanding, George’s manager stepped up to the microphone and thanked everyone. Around him, the band shook his hand, all starry-eyed at having played a role in George Harrison’s final performance. But as George made his way off stage, his mind was already far away.

~o0o~

George’s breath fogged in the air around him, his steps quick despite his age. The woods at his estate were endless at night and he was convinced that they continued forever under the cover of darkness. He was never afraid of the dark, never had been. It hid tears better than anything he’d ever known.

His destination lay just ahead, silver-stained by the full moon above. He’d told Olivia that he’d be back shortly and to not worry. She’d wanted to come along, but he knew that she wouldn’t impose if he asked to go alone. It was his ritual after every concert, she knew. And no matter how exhausted he was, no matter how sore his abused throat or how swollen his joints, George always made the trek.

The bench was plain stone and not much to look at where it sat under an old willow tree. But it was quiet, far away from prying eyes. From a distance, it didn’t look to be more than a hastily carved out rock, dropped carelessly at the pond’s side. But George knew better. That bench had been washed with a thousand tears and had heard a thousand reminiscent stories, all under the cover of waving willow branches and gentle moonlight.

Taking a seat, George sighed heavily and rubbed his hands together against the night’s chill. Just like always, he went over the latest performance, his voice a low murmur meant to be heard by no one but those on the other side.

“It went well,” he began softly, gazing out over the moonlit lake. “Was one for remembering, it was. The crowd loved it. Played a few of our songs. Played ‘You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away’…”

George shifted his seat and cleared his throat. “You know, Johnny… its legal now. Think I told you about that when it happened, but… well, I can’t remember exactly. It was dark back then… anyway. Wish you were here to see it. There are still people who don’t like it, but… well, you could hold hands, you and Paul. Like I know you wanted to. We did ‘The Word’ too. They love that one, John, they always stand up and sing and dance for it, they do. Because it’s true. The word is Love. And love is something you always… you always…

“Anyway, we played ‘Ticket to Ride’ too… the drummer’s good, but he isn’t you, Rings. Couldn’t quite nail that rolling sound that you did, y’know? He does okay, but it’s just not the same… I think it’s better that way. Makes people listen to us from back then. Reminds them who did it first. I won’t forget, but sometimes… sometimes I’m afraid that I might. I’m terrified of that. Forgetting how you used to play…

“The last song we did was one of yours, Paulie. You remember ‘Yesterday’? I hadn’t planned on doing that one… it’s too hard to pull off. I hear your voice instead of mine through the speakers every time… I think it was a good way to end it though. Been singing a long time, I have. Had a good career of it, but I’ve always missed yesterday… It was almost perfect. Would’ve been perfect if…”

George didn’t know if he was talking about the song or his life. Overwhelmed, he bent forward, hands covering his face. _Had it really been 60 years? Had he really managed to spend his entire life without them?_

Curling up on the cold stone bench, George tucked his coat up around his face. His throat ached so terribly from the performance, but he couldn’t bring himself to return to the house. A nice cup of tea would’ve soothed the hurt there, but there was a deeper hurt that needed tended, one that he’d lived with since that fateful summer night.

Breathing deeply despite the chill, George rested his cheek against the cold stone and allowed his tears to fall again. “Don’t know if I ever said it enough before, but… I love you. I miss you and I love you.”

The moon danced on the water before him and he felt lulled by it. A strange calm fell over him as it shifted on the gentle ripples, phasing from full to half to crescent before his very eyes. A warm breeze stirred his graying hair, tempering the cold that was steadily leeching the heat from his body. Closing weary eyes, George let his imagination roam.

_“Ah, Geo. We love you, too, y’know? We were worried though…”_

_“Thought you might’ve forgotten us. Haven’t played any o’ the old songs for a bit…”_

George snorted through his nose and grimaced. His mouth tasted strange, like he’d eaten a raw honeycomb. “Don’t be daft, John. Couldn’t forget you gits if I tried.”

_“Aye, we’re glad you didn’t do that, Geo. Aren’t we, princess?”_

_“An arse you are, John. Any road, he’s right. But don’t tell him I said it though. You know he can be right unbearable…”_

“Believe me, I know.” George flexed his fingers, discovering that they were warm and tingly. Strange. Sitting up, he blew a breath out and expected to see it fog before his face. It didn’t.

_“George?”_

_Christ._

Turning slowly, George followed the source of the voices, voices that he hadn’t heard except in videos and on the radio for over 60 years.

George saw Ringo first.

He was leaning against the willow tree with his arms and legs crossed, putting out all the casual confidence that he’d had when they first ran into him in Hamburg. A cigarette flickered between his lips as he watched George study him, humor glittering from his strangely bright eyes. “You alright, lad? Look like you’ve seen a-”

“Bad timing, Rings.” Another figure materialized from the darkness, leaning against the willow’s other side. _Pale skin, raven hair, pretty doe eyes-_

Paul smiled at him, his leather jacket clinging to his slender frame. Like Ringo, his hair was greased up and perfectly in place, like he was just preparing to walk on stage. He couldn’t have been older than 17. As Paul pushed off of the tree, George barely made out the silhouette beyond him, stepping out of the night woods.

The familiar swagger, the strong nose, the put on Teddy boy toughness that that George knew hid a soft loneliness, a loneliness that always lurked behind warm brown eyes…

 _John_.

Standing from the stone bench, George could feel the moon phasing behind himself, turning and turning and turning in the water, but staying the same up in the sky. He could feel the way his fingers opened and closed without the ghost of arthritis haunting them, could feel his lungs filling more easily than they had in years.

Shrugging his shoulders, George found them to be slimmer than he remembered, covered in a too-big leather coat. “What's this?”

Stepping forward, John’s hair caught the moonlight and seemed made of fire, glittering like a crown on his head. He gave George a grin and held out a guitar, seemingly conjured from the heavy air around them.

John smiled and winked as George took the guitar into his hands. “Play a little, won’t you? Can’t take on somebody so young if he can’t play, can we?”

At his flanks, Paul and Ringo were smiling as George took the guitar in hand. “Go on, Geo,” Paul urged, his eyes dancing with a hundred different colors, many of them unknown to man. “Play ‘Raunchy.’ Please?”

Taking a breath and steadying himself, George began. The tune jumped easily from his fingertips, smooth a butter and soft as satin. The wind must’ve caught it just right as it danced up into the trees, a jaunty tune gone strangely gentle in the quiet of the night. The whole time, George felt himself growing light, so light that he was afraid he might float away, so light that he worried a false note would break the spell. But he played it through to the end, his palms sweaty long after the last note vanished into the air.

George looked around himself, at the whispering night woods and the looking-glass pond, at the moon flipping phases quicker than he could blink. “What was all this for? What is this?”

John was smiling. “This is an audition, Georgie.”

“An audition?”

“Yeah, an audition… and I’m thinking you’ve got what it takes.”

John extended his hand, eyes sparkling with happiness, true unguarded happiness. “We’ve got a contract with the universe coming up, you see, and we need a lead guitarist. So I guess what I’m asking is… do you wanna join me band?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :')))))

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry :(


End file.
